


Arnold With The Good Hair

by captain_starcat



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, basically they’re losers for each other but I don’t think they’ve realized it yet, dubcon hair touching, for real this time, hair panic, kinda married (canon), mentions of violent offscreen Humidification, set sXI or later but that's not super important, the Cat as designated arbiter of style (canon), the perils of a good hairdo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-11-02 02:18:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20588402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_starcat/pseuds/captain_starcat
Summary: Rimmer had just returned from his annual-when-he-felt-like-it trip down to the diesel decks, and there was something… different about him.





	Arnold With The Good Hair

**Author's Note:**

> ["Life’s too short to not write incredibly self-indulgent fics."](https://spacecat-rageghost.tumblr.com/post/187615549572/lifes-too-short-to-not-write-incredibly)   
[ \- a wise stranger on tumblr](https://spacecat-rageghost.tumblr.com/post/187615549572/lifes-too-short-to-not-write-incredibly)
> 
> (look this isn’t specifically about Rimmer’s sXI hair but be it known Rimmer’s sXI hair was a strong inspiration~)

Rimmer was _dying_ for a shower. Sure, he was already dead, but why should that matter? The facts had absolutely no bearing on the issue, except for how being dead, and a hologram, should have prevented this reality. But as Rimmer knew (and anyone could tell you), reality was shit.

He was returning, grimy and besmirched, from his two-week annual-when-he-felt-like-it camping trip down to the diesel decks. True, camping always left him wanting a shower, but he’d had a run-in with a rogue environmental unit two days ago that’d left him mucky and unpleasantly Humidified, and to make matters worse, it’d somehow affected his projection itself. Switching to soft-light and back had only done so much, and Rimmer knew he was a complete mess.

He stepped out of the lift closest to the current living quarters and breathed a sigh of relief, pleasantly struck by the feeling of _home_. Now, if he had any luck at all, he could avoid running into any of his crewmates on his way to the bunkroom shower.

With his luck being what it was, he ran into the Cat first.

“Moggy,” Rimmer acknowledged. He attempted to edge around the patch of corridor the Cat was using to stage an epic shadow battle with himself.

“Goalpost head!” The Cat looked up from his crouch, brushing off his neon-feathered lapels. “Where you been? When I hadn’t seen you for a while, I figured you’d died!”

“I’m already dead, stupid cat. I was just on vacation.”

“So why’d you have to come back, then? Aw man, I was really enjoying you being dead, too.”

“Yes, well, here I am,” Rimmer sighed. “Still here, still dead. Now are you going to let me by, or do I have to feed you to your coat?”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” the Cat jumped up, eyes narrowed, and pointed at himself. “This _coat_ is not _carnivorous_.”

He paused, finally noticing Rimmer’s state. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. You’re all dirty. And what’s up with your hair?”

“What do you mean, what’s up with my hair? What’s wrong? What’s it doing?” Rimmer ran his fingers through his curls in panic.

“It’s different.”

“Different? What does that mean, different?”

“Different. You know, not the same?” The Cat rolled his eyes. “Pfft, I thought _I_ was supposed to be the dumb one.”

“Yes, okay, it started doing something weird when I was down by the humidifying units, but I haven’t been near a mirror,” Rimmer said. “I already know it’s terrible, just let me pass so I can see the damage already.”

“No, non-bud,” the Cat tilted his head. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but… it’s almost good!”

“What do you mean, my hair is ‘almost good’?!”

“Don’t let anyone know I said that! Yowwwww!” he yowled, and pranced away.

“Useless furball,” Rimmer muttered as he stared after him, disconcerted. He gave himself a shake. Everybody knew the Cat barely had one brain cell to rub together, and obviously couldn’t be trusted to hold an opinion. Best to ignore him.

*

Rimmer finally reached the bunk room, where he found Lister at the table, doing an x-rated sudoku. His eyes lit up when Rimmer came in.

“Look at that, our favorite tosspot has returned!” said Lister with a smile. He sounded downright chummy—tone possibly even bordering on _affectionate_—and Rimmer honestly didn’t know what to make of that. Ignoring it, too, seemed the promising choice. He was on a mission.

“Yes, I’m back. The diesel decks were lovely and diesel-y, thanks for asking,” he dismissed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to figure out what’s happened to my hair.”

“What about your hair?” Lister leaned back in his chair to look.

“So you don’t notice anything?”

“No, I— wait, did you do something with your hair?”

“The humidity units did something to my hair,” Rimmer snapped. “I had nothing to do with it. I mean, I’m a hologram for smeg’s sake, this isn’t supposed to _happen_. I just need to go check the damage.”

“Huh,” Lister said. “It _might_ look a bit different? I mean, it’s not _t__hat_ different. It’s maybe sticking up a bit? I mean, you pretty much look normal…” He stood up and wandered over, conveniently blocking Rimmer from the bathroom.

“Yes, thank you for your stunning observations. Now will you let me—”

“Honestly,” he cocked his head and squinted at Rimmer, “it looks kinda… good??”

“Lister, are you _really_ saying my hair looks _good_ like this?” Rimmer asked incredulously. “I swear, you’re turning into more of a middle aged mum every day.”

“No really, it looks… better, maybe.” Lister sounded thoughtful, or perhaps confused.

“Wait, do you mean _actually_ better? Or just ‘better than the thing you previously had on your head, but still objectively terrible’ better?” asked Rimmer. He suddenly realized he cared deeply about the answer.

“No, like… better,” Lister shrugged, obviously having run out of vocabulary several sentences ago.

“Well, great. How insightful. Thanks, Listy, for clearing that up.” Rimmer rolled his eyes as scathingly as he could manage. “Now can I _please_ go fix it.”

“Hang on, hang on, not so fast,” said Lister, walking in a circle around Rimmer and staring at his head. “I think you should keep it like this.”

“So you all can have a good laugh every time I turn the corner? Absolutely not.”

“Hey, man, I’m just sayin’…”

“Yes, and you can kindly stop.” Rimmer finally pushed past him into the bathroom, and, for the first time in two weeks, looked in a mirror.

_Oh._

Oh, okay. So that’s what Lister meant.

He still had a grease smudge down his temple and a smattering of something greenish across his nose and cheek, but that paled in significance to what was going on with his hair. It—it _did_ look better, somehow. His curls were coming loose from his aggressive gelling, as he knew they would be, in the way that drove him absolutely mad, but this time, it… worked, somehow. The overall effect made his hair more… swoopy, maybe. Very slightly rakish. Possibly a bit _debonair_.

…Huh.

He turned his head this way and that, examining the effect. Not to be too hasty, or go out on a limb, but his hair was almost…

…well…

…_cool_.

This was obviously a first. His hair had never been cool before, never in his whole life, not even when he’d been off playing space hero. But of course he was going to fix it immediately. Senior Acting Commanding Officers in deep space couldn’t have cool hair, it wasn’t allowed. No one would respect them, otherwise.

Well, okay, maybe he’d change it back in a minute. After he looked at it a bit longer.

“Told you it was good, didn’t I?” Lister asked, having snuck up behind Rimmer.

Rimmer might have leapt a foot in the air, but he definitely didn’t let out a loud squeak, absolutely not.

Lister snickered. “Seriously, I think you should keep it like that,” he said.

“Are you mad? Of course I can’t _keep it_ this way. It’s undignified, is what it is.”

“It’s really not. In fact,” Lister said with some amount of wonder, “for once in your life, your hair isn’t making you look like a complete arsehole_._”

“And when did you start caring so much how my hair looks?!” Rimmer snapped, a flutter of what might have been panic in his simulated stomach.

“Well, I’m the one who’s got to look at you all the time, don’t I?” Lister said reasonably. “And you agree, this looks better.”

Rimmer sighed in defeat. “The Cat said that, too.”

“_T__he Cat_ gave you a compliment?” Lister’s voice rose in shock. “About your hair? _Our_ Cat?!”

“Well, almost.”

“No way?! You’re joking. I thought he only ever complimented himself.”

“Aw man, you weren’t supposed to tell anyone!!” The Cat wailed loudly from the main bunk room.

Lister met his eyes and snickered again, and Rimmer found himself, completely by accident, smiling far too openly back. What could he say, obviously the vacation had left him feeling dangerously mellow.

“Keep it like this,” Lister said again, reaching out to ruffle Rimmer’s curls. There was a softness in his voice and dark eyes that made Rimmer’s lightbee twitch strangely.

“Er, maybe I will,” Rimmer managed, his face heating. He wanted Lister to keep looking at him like this, like they were people who liked each other, and shared private jokes.

Wait—no—he didn’t want that, this was already too much—any minute now they might start talking about feelings, for smeg’s sake, and Rimmer didn’t think he could survive that conversation.

“Uh,” his voice broke stupidly (_how_ old was he again??). “Uh, actually, I need to go catalogue the pictures and observations I took, bye,” he said, and scarpered.

“I’m not coming to your slideshow,” Lister called after him, sounding unmistakably fond.

Smeg, Rimmer never realized a new hairdo could be so dangerous.

*

Nevertheless, when he reported for duty the next morning (…okay, afternoon) in the science lab, a new derelict on the scanners, his hair was maybe, possibly, a little cheekier than he usually let it be. Just the tiniest smidgen of a swoop to it. Maybe no one would notice.

“Ah, Mr Rimmer, sir,” Kryten said, looking up. “I’m just getting the wreck on the scans now.” He turned his attention back to the screen again, and Rimmer breathed a sigh of relief. Good old Kryten. Trust a droid not to care about hair.

The Cat, lying on a console like it was pure coincidence he happened to be in the room with all the action, gave Rimmer an appraising look.

“It’s an improvement, but you’re still a hopeless case—especially compared to me.” He grinned with too many teeth and went back to filing his nails.

“Shut up, fish breath,” huffed Rimmer through his nose, but the Cat was already ignoring him.

Lister dragged himself through the doorway a moment later. “What’ve we found out?” he yawned, wandering over to Kryten. Rimmer looked up at his voice, and immediately away.

“Oh, not much, sir,” Kryten reported. “Data still coming in.”

“Alright, keep me updated.”

He turned, and saw Rimmer. Rimmer tensed, concentrating very hard on the screen he was looking at. He felt Lister come up beside him.

“Hey, not bad,” Lister said, reaching out to ruffle Rimmer’s hair again. Rimmer managed to duck away in time. “I like it.”

“Yes, well no one asked your opinion, did they,” Rimmer ground out, dodging as Lister tried again.

“I’m just saying, it’s nice,” said Lister, unbothered. Rimmer would kill for that kind of equanimity, but would settle for finding a way to stop his cheeks going humiliatingly pink when Lister said things like that.

Despite his best efforts, after a brief struggle, Lister managed to get his stubby, curry-stained fingers into the curls at the nape of Rimmer’s neck.

Rimmer froze. It felt stupidly good, and he hated it. He could really feel his face going red now, and he squeezed his eyes shut, cursing his projection’s smegging overreactions.

“You monkeys are hopeless,” said the Cat from his perch.

“Yeah,” Lister said, sounding soft and fond again. He wound his fingers shamelessly through Rimmer’s hair as Rimmer tried not to melt. “We kinda are.”


End file.
